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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552942">Life Is Strange (Frerard) 🦋</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_A_Dolan/pseuds/A_A_Dolan'>A_A_Dolan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Frank Iero - Fandom, Gerard Way - Fandom, frerard - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:42:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_A_Dolan/pseuds/A_A_Dolan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighteen year old Gerard Way, a high school senior who learns he has the power to rewind time when he saves his childhood friend, Frank Iero, from being killed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Jamia Nestor, Gerard Way/Frank Iero, Gerard Way/Lindsey Ballato, Jamia Nestor/Billie Joe Armstrong, Mikey Way/Ray Toro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Life Is Strange (Frerard) 🦋</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The loud, roaring, thunder awoken the young boy as his large, almond shaped, earthly green eyes shot wide open. He let out a loud and startling gasp, sitting himself up on the hard, cold, and soaking wet ground below his body...he could feel the squishy mud underneath his nails and in between his fingers as his eyes wandered all around him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A storm was surrounding him; the sky was dark grey—practically black looking, the air smelled of rain and the wind blew violently...the small rain droplets hitting against the young, green-eyed teenager’s porcelain, white face at full speed from the rough wind felt like a million pricks of sharp needles piercing through his skin...completely confused as he was unaware of his surroundings, or how he even got there.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">‘Where am I...? How did I even get here...? What the hell is going on!?’ </span> <span class="s1">He could hear his own voice inside his head; asking him numerous questions all at once...all he could do was gather himself up, rather clumsily as he almost tripped over his own feet.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thunder roared again—a following of flashing lights brightening the darkened sky above him, the wind continued to blast through the air; making the forest green, tall trees dancing a violent waltz all around him...his vision was blurred by the storm as he attempted to make his way through the rain and the wind. Somewhere safe and dry, he hoped to himself.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Protecting his face with his arms, using them as a shield from the storm, the thunder blasted once more from the almost blackened sky...the bright lightning lit all around him once more as the wind hollered in the air—almost making a loud, audible, whistling sound...it was a hard task, having to get from point A to point B through what felt like something of a hurricane, but he managed to make it to the very top of wherever he was.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wow...oh, fuck...” His eyes were more of a soft, jade color now—widening as his mouth dropped open...a tornado. It was enormous; it was monstrous; it was powerful...it was wide enough to consume the entire town of Arcadia Bay...it was consuming everything in its sight—swallowing it whole.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">‘How the fuck is there a tornado in Oregon!? Is that even possible!?’ </span> <span class="s1">His inner voice inside his head grew louder, practically making his ears ring...even though he was absolutely scared shitless, he was always mesmerized by the rather exciting, dangerous, and frightening sight going on right in front of his very eyes.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After breaking contact with the devouring, wide, monstrous tornado, he noticed something flying in the air—coming his way rather quickly and manically as the hard, strong winds made it dance, violently. It appeared to be a vehicle...the car’s alarm was going off, making the teenagers ears ring as he placed both his hands over them to try and block the noise, but he only managed to muffled them. The car lights were blinking as the alarm muffle in the boy’s ears somehow grew louder as it came even closer to him...he let out a loud gasp, and a startled yell followed immediately, afterwards.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He dropped to the muddy ground as the flying, weeping vehicle passed above him—would’ve definitely hit him if he’d not taken immediate action and fall against the earth...the car crashed against what looked like a lighthouse. The lighthouse...the young boy immediately remembered where he was; one of the usual hangout spots where he spent a lot of when he was younger.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The hard collusion of the vehicle slamming against the lighthouse...the loud and audible sound of the tall, old building moaning as large and visible cracks were rising; spreading up and down, and all around the lighthouse...he could hear each crumble as he noticed large pieces of rubble began to fall...then with the strong force of the wind, the entire lighthouse fell apart. Huge pieces were falling all around the boy—landing with a loud crashing sound as his wide, enormous, jaded eyes focused on one piece of the lighthouse that was big enough to be a boulder falling towards him...frozen with fear, the chunk of the lighthouse grew bigger as it came closer to landing directly on him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“NOOOOO!” He screamed as everything went completely black. His eyelids twitched before he awoken, rather violently, in his class. Nobody seemed to notice him as his tired, still widened, bright emerald green eyes wandered all around him...the teacher teaching photography gave his lesson; some students had their focus directly on him, while the rest sneakily texted on their phones or whispered to the next person beside them, snickering while trying not to make it obvious.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">‘Whoa—what the fuck...? It was a dream...? That was so surreal; it didn’t feel like a dream...’ </span> <span class="s1">His mind felt scattered—too much noise for him to handle, so he collected his thoughts, blinked hard while rubbing the sleep out of them, shaking his head to calm himself down.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The teacher, who was quite popular and often favorited by many different students throughout the entire school, and in photography class continued giving his lesson as he slowly walked around different areas of the classroom...the young boy was still shaken up by his very vivid dream...he was convinced parts of him were soaking wet but in reality, his forehead was just sweaty and his clothes were sticking to his slightly dampened skin.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">‘Okay, okay...I’m okay, and outside is nice—‘ </span> <span class="s1">He turned his gaze over to the large, clear, classroom window off to his right. Outside looked warm, but with October rolling around the temperature would drop pretty soon...not that he minded, he loved cold and gloomy weather. He especially loved autumn—his favorite season out of all four...the sky was bright, the color was a soft aquamarine, several white, fluffy clouds kept the never ending sky company...the breeze softly blew through the trees; the young boy’s bright, shining, emerald eyes watched the leaves move with the wind...he always loved daydreaming while staring out of his favorite window in his favorite class.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">‘It felt so real...but, maybe it was nothing. Just a dream...a weird one.’ </span> <span class="s1">His mind wandered along with his eyes as they averted back to his teacher who was now standing in the center of the classroom, still going on with his lesson. One student in particular was staring intensely at him as he spoke; never taking his large, rounded, dark brown eyes off of Mr. Leto—the photography teacher at Blackwell Academy.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was also once known as a famous photographer in the eighties and nineties before retiring and teaching his skills and knowledge to young minds.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brendon Urie—one of the students, was the one who kept staring at Mr. Leto...a small grin resting on his face as he occasionally nodded in agreement with anything or everything Mr. Leto said, and of course, raising his hand whenever given the chance to answer every single question thrown out there for anyone to answer. He was definitely an ass kisser and quite good at it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The green eyed teenager raised his eyebrows while chewing on his bottom lip, tapping his foot against the floor below his feet—making a light tapping sound loud enough for only him to hear. He looked down at his items scattered on top of his desk; his portfolio with his own Polaroid photos inside of them, his old school Polaroid camera that he’s had for a couple of years now, an old comic book that was one of his favorites, an old school pencil holder that he’s had since middle school, and his most important item that he brings with him everywhere—aside from his camera. His diary.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He examined his camera; admiring its vintage and retro beauty...he then reached his hands over to grab a hold of it, carefully picking it up and turning the aim directly on himself, he then decided to snap a selfie...the bright flash caught the attention of Mr. Leto as well as some of the other students around him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I believe Gerard has taken what you kids call a ‘selfie’. A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Gerard has a gift...of course as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early eighteen hundreds. Your generation was not the first to use images for ‘selfie expression’. Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Mr. Leto smirked as he adjusted his glasses, the sunlight shining in his bright, ocean blue eyes—making them appear to be even bluer than before. Several students chuckled at his lame joke, including Brendon, who was practically trying to flirt and get the teacher’s attention by giggling.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Gerard’s heart began to beat rapidly as his hands clutched onto his camera...his hands were trembling slightly as he continued chewing on his bottom lip. He noticed in the corner of his eye that Pete Wentz, one of Brendon’s friends and little groupies, chucked a little crumpled up, paper ball directly over at his younger brother who was attending the same school for graphic arts, Mikey. The paper ball hit Mikey’s cheek; bouncing off his face before dropping to the ground...light chuckles and snickers followed and Mikey had a saddened look buried in his eyes, which were red, puffy, and irritated.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mikey looked like he was on the verge of tears but tried fighting them...they haven’t really spent time together since they first arrived at Blackwell Academy; busy doing their own things. Apparently something bad enough has happened to have Gerard be concerned for Mikey and he frowned to himself as he turned his gaze back over at Pete, who was laughing alongside Brendon.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The point remains is that the portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art and photography for as long as its been around. Now Gerard, since you’ve captured our interest and clearly wanna join the conversation can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self portraits?” Brendon’s smirk faded into a frown as he turned his head over at Gerard, who sat in his seat completely frozen with fear. He could feel his own anxiety kicking in and he tapped his foot even quicker and harder now, it was heard all around the classroom.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re asking me...? L-let me think...umm...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You either know this or not, Gerard. Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?” Mr. Leto slammed his hand down against one of the empty desks, making Gerard feel completely embarrassed as his cheeks flushed ruby red and couldn’t help but lower his head after seeing the look of pure disappointment resting on his favorite teacher’s beautiful, fair complexed, and attractive teacher.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created daguerreotypes. A process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Brendon answered Mr. Leto’s question, that was aimed at Gerard. Several students rolled their eyes and shook their heads as Brendon showed off just how smart he was and how much ass kissing he was willing to partake in just to get a passing grade. His small smirk returned as the left corner of his mouth curled upright, turning his gaze over at Gerard, again. Gerard lifted his head up slowly and was now making direct eye contact with Brendon.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now you’re totally stuck in the retro zone. Sad face.” A direct burn towards him...light chuckles and snickers escaped the mouths of other students surrounding Gerard as he looked away in embarrassment, moving his long, shaggy, walnut brown hair behind his ear as he bit down on his tongue...Brendon remained smirking as he raised an eyebrow and turned his head back to Mr. Leto, giving him all his attention once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The class was near the end, Gerard remained slumped in his seat while Mr. Leto continued speaking...the school bell rang, everyone grabbed their things and headed straight out the door, leaving the classroom.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brendon didn’t hesitate to stand up from his seat and waltz his way over to Mr. Leto to be the teacher’s pet, once more. Gerard sat slumped in his seat, trying to collect himself from that cringing and embarrassing moment...he sighed out softly as he ran his hand through his shaggy, softly dark hair while gathering up all his things—stuffing them into his school messenger bag that was decorated with hand sewn patches and buttons, threw the bag over his left shoulder and stood tall from his seat.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gerard, I need to speak with you—mainly about your photo entry for the contest.” He let out another soft sigh as he looked over at Mikey, who was still sitting quietly in his seat.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey Mikey, you okay...?” Mikey lifted up his head and caught his older brother’s worried gaze staring directly at him. Mikey quickly broke eye contact—removing his glasses to wipe his own tears away, sniffling softly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, Gee.” Was all Mikey responded with as he put his glasses back on, clearing his throat softly while avoiding eye contact with his older brother.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You okay...?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just tired. Thinking too much, and tons of homework...” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I hear that. Wanna grab some coffee and bitch about life?” Mikey shook his head no in response as he lifted his head up once more to look at him...his eyes were still red, puffy, and irritated—glistened with tears as he forced a small grin.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not today. Got a lot to do...maybe some other time.” Mikey then grabbed his iPad he used for his digital art, along with a paperback copy of ‘The Giver’ which was one of his favorite books, and a sketchbook filled with some sketches and doodles he did himself along with a box of expensive oil pastels and charcoals—stuffing them into his backpack. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll text you later, okay?” Gerard told Mikey as he walked passed him, looking back at him, nodding his head in response as he headed out the classroom. Before he had to face Mr. Leto, Gerard noticed the crumpled up, ball of paper Pete threw at Mikey beside his desk on the floor...he bent down to retrieve it and quickly opened it...revealing what was written inside.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">‘Mikey, we love your porn video.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Xo- Blackwell Academy’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Gerard felt his heart sink as his frown grew bigger on his face. He let out a soft scoff while shanking his head in disbelief as he crumpled the paper back into a tight ball and found the nearest trash can to throw the lovely note that was directed at his brother. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brendon continued chatting away with Mr. Leto...Gerard really didn’t want to talk with him about the contest. He had his photo, but he hated it and thought it was completely pretentious, and made him look like a total narcissist.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Gerard took a deep breath as he clutched onto the strap of his school messenger bag before slowly making his way over to talk to Mr. Leto—not looking forward to more one-sided attacks from Brendon. He was notorious for insulting anyone.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad to see so many youths in this generation have such a strong passion for art in many different forms.” Mr. Leto admitted to Brendon, smirking at him as he crossed his arms over his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just want to show the world my talent and be both remembered and admired for my photos. It breaks my heart that so many people out in the world don’t appreciate or love art nowadays.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, it is pretty painful and disappointing but I teach many students; many artists who have a strong desire to show the world what they’re capable of.” Brendon smiled a full, wide, and toothy smile at the teacher as he nodded his head in agreement, never taking his eyes off of him. Gerard rolled his eyes as he bit down on his bottom lip again and was getting closer to Mr. Leto...Brendon heard Gerard’s footsteps and slowly turned his head to look over at him—his smile softened and minimized; leaving that mischievous grin on the corner of his very plump, full lips.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Some of us are a little more talented, passionate, and have a stronger will to put all of our hard work out on display.” Brendon said to Mr. Leto, still gazing over at Gerard before breaking eye contact, focusing his large, brown eyes back at the teacher.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, Gerard—I’d never let one of photography’s future stars avoid handing in his picture.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do I have to? I just don’t think it’s that big a deal.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gerard, you’re a better photographer than a liar...now I know it’s a drag to hear some old dude lecture you...but life won’t wait for you to play catch-up. You’re young, the world is yours, blah blah blah, right? But you do have a gift, you have the fever to take images, to frame the world only the way you envision it. Now, all you need is the courage to share your gift with others. That’s what separates the artist, from the amateur.” Gerard listened to every single piece of advice from Mr. Leto—he’s been doing this for a long, long time. He was famous for his work...Gerard loved his photography and has been a huge fan for years before attending Blackwell Academy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, Mr. Leto...you always give the best advice. No wonder you’re everyone’s favorite teacher.” Gerard admired him, smiling a small smile over at him as his eyes drifted over to Brendon, who was staring over at him—no longer smirking but mad dogging him. Gerard swore Brendon was jealous.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll try to work on turning in my picture, Mr. Leto.” Gerard assured him. Brendon scoffed softly, licking his lips while raising his dark, thick, perfect eyebrows up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mr. Leto smiled over at Gerard, nodding in response. Gerard held his breath as he finally turned over at the door which led to the exit outside Mr. Leto’s classroom.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once Gerard was out of photography class, he closed the door behind him and let out a soft sigh...taking a deep breath, waiting for his heart to calm down as he gathered himself up to go through the rest of his day.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The overwhelming amount of students talking over one another in the hallways of Blackwell Academy made the introvert inside of Gerard shrink even smaller than before...he recognized so many different yet familiar faces around him—some were fellow students from his old high school, and he was happy that a lot of kids he knew shared similar interests as he did to apply and get accepted to such a fancy and well known art school in Oregon. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Some kids talked about whatever came to mind, joking around with one another...Gerard noticed some couples who were all over each other; holding one another, kissing against the lockers...he felt himself getting flushed in embarrassment as he reached for his phone that rested inside of the deep pocket of his ripped, faded, denim jeans. He fished for his earphones that were in his other pocket—quickly placing each earbud inside of his ears, he immediately searched for a song to put on and block out the world for a while.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once the music began to play inside of his ears; all voices overlapping one another were completely tuned out by the sounds of an acoustic guitar, a bass guitar, and eventually soft singing...Gerard needed a moment alone to catch his breath and recharge his social battery.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clutched onto the strap of his messenger bag and made his way down the cluttered and overcrowded hallway as he made his way to the nearest bathroom.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Several kids he was friendly or acquainted with smile over at him and waved over at him...Gerard waved back and continued walking past everyone. Gerard’s eyes noticed some hand drawn/painted posters that were done by fellow students—typical club announcements, Blackwell Pride, and for school activities. He also noticed several missing person filers spread out all throughout the hallways; some were even covering the other posters on the walls...it had a photo of a girl. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘MISSING FROM:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Arcadia Bay</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">DATE MISSING:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wed April 16, 2019</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">OTHER:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Age: 18 years old</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Height: 5’5” Weight: 135 lbs</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hair: black</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eyes: Light Brown</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jamia Nestor</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Age: 18’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was smiling in the photo; her smile was wide, large, and toothy...her eyes were bright, and her hair was in a messy ponytail while she posed with a peace sign. She seemed like a free spirited and sweet girl...Gerard wondered who printed out her filers, there were so many of them—everywhere he looked, her missing posters were there. Whoever was looking for her really wanted to find her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Gerard felt so relieved when he finally saw the bathroom and picked up the pace to be alone...or at least, he hoped he was alone. Pushing the bathroom door open, he poked his head through the opening and sighed out in relief when he saw it was empty inside.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stepped inside, letting the door close by itself behind him as he made his way over to the bathroom sinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He removed the earbuds out of his ears, turned off his music, and took a deep breath; exhaling loudly and sharply as he rubbed his temples, then rubbing his eyes, and running both hands through his hair...messing it up a bit as he looked at his own reflection in the mirror.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He twisted the sink knobs, watching the water spray out of the faucet...he placed both his hands under the still cold, quickly turning warm water; splashing it against his face several times while breathing steadily and softly. Closing his eyes for a moment while still focusing on his breathing...Gerard turned off the sink faucet and turned away to have his moment, alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His body leaned against the porcelain white sink behind him as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes while letting out another soft sigh.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Now you’re totally stuck in the retro zone—sad face’.” Gerard imitated Brendon; exaggerating his voice a bit while biting down on his bottom lip, shaking his head in disbelief.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">‘I can’t believe Brendon made fun of me in front of the entire classroom—what is he, fifteen years old...? And people laughed at me...’ </span> <span class="s1">His eyes opened as he gathered himself up as he began to feel a bit more calm, though if it was an option, he’d stay in the bathroom forever or at least go back to his dorm room for the rest of the day.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Out of the blue, in the corner of his eye, Gerard thought he was hallucinating when he caught the clear sight of a Menelaus blue morpho; a blue butterfly to put it, simply. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">‘Whoa—what’s a beautiful thing like that doing stuck in the boys bathroom in a school...?’ </span> <span class="s1">Gerard’s eyes were focused on the butterfly as he watched it sit ever so still before lightly flapping its beautiful, bright, elegant wings around...flying around in the air, Gerard slowly followed it, wanting to capture it with his Polaroid camera.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The butterfly was still fluttering its wings around and Gerard smiled a small smile to himself, admiring the beauty of the wings...finally it flew by the very far end behind one of the bathroom stalls, landing directly on the trash can.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">‘Time for a photo—just hope it’ll stay still...’ </span> <span class="s1">Gerard slowly removed his bag off his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the butterfly, and slowly kneeled down to open up his bag and pull out his camera. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His hands clutched onto the Polaroid; trembling slightly as he held his breath—aiming the camera directly onto the butterfly...with a light press of the button, the bright light flashed and captured its beauty.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When a door closes, a window opens...or, something like that.” Gerard murmured softly to himself, chuckling softly as he grabbed onto the picture he just took—waving it around so that the image would clear up and appear. It was a perfect shot, Gerard thought to himself...the butterfly’s wings were a unique shade of blue; almost like they were neon and glowing...it almost felt like a sort of spirit.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bathroom door creaked open—Gerard froze, let out a soft gasp as he kept himself hidden behind the furthest stall...the butterfly fluttered its mesmerizing wings as it began to fly around, almost touching the tip of Gerard’s pixie shaped nose...he was scared whoever entered the boys bathroom would notice it and want to investigate.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Several more loud footsteps echoed throughout the bathroom...Gerard held his breath and kept his back pressed against the stall...his heart was pounding rapidly inside of his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s cool, Bert...don’t stress...you’re okay, man. Just count to three.” Bert McCraken—also known as one the wealthiest and popular kids at Blackwell Academy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be scared...you own this school...if I wanted, I could blow it up...you’re the boss...” Bert was talking to himself in the mirror, trying to sound relaxed when he sounded more anxious and scared shitless. Gerard slowly moved his way over to peek over the stall and see what was going on with Bert, exactly. His short, blonde hair was groomed neatly and he was wearing his signature black and purple letterman jacket along with a pair of tight fitting denim jeans and black vans. He looked like any regular, spoiled, rich, entitled teenager when everyone knew about his dysfunctional family and his short temper.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door creaked open once more and Gerard let out another soft gasp as he remained hidden—only peeking his head out just enough to witness whatever was happening. A short kid walked in and closed the door behind him, locking the door once he entered the bathroom. The kid was wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a dark blue and black plaid shirt over it, ripped, black skinny jeans, and what looked like black combat boots. His hair was shaved on the sides but the top of his head was full of medium length, dyed blue hair and it was styled in a Mohawk. He also had a lip piercing, a nose piercing, and several visible tattoos.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, what do you want?” Bert spat at the blue haired teenager.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step-ass would say. Now, let’s talk bidness—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I got nothing for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wrong. You got hella cash.” The blue haired boy said as he checked around the stalls to see if the coast really was clear. Gerard remained silent, hidden, and absolutely terrified.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s my family, not me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh boo hoo, poor little rich kid. I know you been pumpin’ drugs n’ shit to kids around here...I bet your respectable family would help me out if I went to them. Man, I can see the headlines now—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Leave them out of this, bitch.” Bert was starting to lose his patience as he clutched onto the corners of the porcelain, white sink...the blue haired boy kept taunting him; getting up close and personal to Bert’s face, threatening him...Gerard was absolutely frozen with fear as he watched in total silence.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can tell everybody Bert McCraken is a punk ass who begs like a little girl and talks to himself—“ Bert interrupted him as he reached for something hidden in his jacket...he pulled out a gun and didn’t hesitate to aim it directly at the blue haired teenager. Gerard let out another soft gasp as his eyes widened with fear and he quickly looked away, and he could feel himself beginning to panic.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t know who the fuck I am or who you’re messing around with!” Bert raised his voice; it echoed all throughout the bathroom.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where’d you get that? What are you doing? Come on, put that thing down!” The blue haired kid looked scared for his life now as he pleaded with Bert, backing away with a look of fear buried in his eyes—even putting his hands up, trying to back Bert away as well as protecting himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was Bert’s turn to get up close and personal as he cornered the kid up against the bathroom wall and aimed the gun directly into his gut.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t EVER tell me what to do. I’m so SICK of people trying to control me!” Bert was shouting now and Gerard could feel his heart beating so hard and so fast as tears began to build up inside of his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are going to get in hella more trouble for this than drugs—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nobody would ever even miss your ‘punk ass’ would they?” Bert continued cornering the blue haired kid, still super close against him as he still had his gun aimed at him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get that gun away from me, psycho!” The blue haired kid pleaded once more as he roughly shoved Bert away from him...the loud blast of his gun being fired made Gerard gasp loudly and nearly jump out of his own skin. Tears spilled down his face as he finally revealed himself out in the open, holding his hand out in the air.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“NO!” Gerard yelled out as he watched the kid fall to the ground below him...blood was gushing out of the bullet wound right in the center of his stomach...Bert dropped the gun and suddenly...everything became blurry, distorted, and Gerard could hear a loud ringing inside of his ears as everything around him moved in slow motion...the gun didn’t even touch the ground as it reverted back into Bert’s hand, and the blue haired kid’s body rose from the floor—almost like everything was going backwards.</span>
</p>
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